Repello Muggletum: a Hogwarts Roleplay discussion

There are many courtyards around Hogwarts, all of which feature a large area with benches scattered around the sides. Students can be found in all of them, idly chatting or playing Exploding Snap or even just studying.

Erin had shrugged off the concerns and comments of those who had laughed at her prospect of reading at the Courtyards when it was a dark and seemingly stormy day. The Hufflepuff Common Room was usually full of laughter--rather a wild environment to read in--and she usually joined them. But it was the perfect opportunity to finish that Tranfiguration monograph she needed to read to finish her homework.

Growing peckish and having a substantial amount of time left before dinner, Rosaline had decided to visit the kitchens. In her earlier years she had been taught the secret of the ticklish pear, from a Hufflepuff, no less. That was before she had been labeled about as safe as trying to kiss a cobra.

That did not concern her, however, as she sat down on a bench and prepared to eat. A tin of bite-sized custard tarts, piped with fluffy, white pastry cream sat open on her lap. Rosaline popped one into her mouth, relishing the sweet taste. Who said dessert before dinner was bad? It felt fine to her.

Erin recognized the fearsome Rosaline Kelly, and couldn't help but smirk when a few second years scattered from the bench beside her, and--no. Those couldn't be the rare, delicious tarts they seldom gave for dinner. Custard tarts? With pastry cream?

A fellow Hufflepuff looked up at her in amazement as she laid her book beside her on the bench she sat on and stood up. Rosaline wasn't a bad old puss, you just had to stroke her the right way. "Rosaline!" she called out amiably.

Rosaline had her eyes closed to fully enjoy her snack, and now she wouldn't open them for fear of seeing the owner of the voice that called her name. She risked it, an eye winking open for a moment.

"Why?" she whined quietly to herself. She'd had enough of these people trying to get all buddy-buddy with her. Sure, Dom had been more than bearable, pleasant even. But Rosaline didn't even recognise the girl.

Wait, yes she did. There was a family resemblance, and she vaguely remembered spotting her in the halls.

Rosaline chose to reply with a small wave, a simple wriggle of her fingers. It would look like her mouth was too full to respond.

"Hey, Roz--don't you recognize me?" she asked after seeing her expression sour, and decided to cut back on the cheerfulness or she'd get no tart. "That looks so delicious," she said sincerely. Not daring to sit down, perfectly knowing that would be like poking her in the eye. "You can get in the kitchen..." She tried to keep the avid glint in her eyes low, but they looked irresistible. Scrumptious, really.

"Not really," she replied honestly, licking the cream from her upper lip before regarding the Hufflepuff. The girl's name escaped her. It was ridiculous of her to think Rosaline would remember it out of so many others. They didn't even talk on a regular basis.

"Remind me," Rosaline said (in a much more pleasant tone), after eating another tart. They brightened her mood and mellowed her out. "Oh, yeah, they're great," she confirmed, noticing the way the girl eyed her food. The thought of sharing didn't even cross her mind.

"Erin, I'm Dom's cousin. And it's not like we've never met," she said. "Or if we haven't talked." Even though Erin would beg with the ordinary Hogwartian she knew she might get a jinx in the back if she began to play it safe.

"And I've also met Bruce and Cecil--who hasn't?" Even though she had gotten close to the circle a few times she knew even flirty Cecil would recognize her from his endless list of flings she wasn't in. She wasn't sure if it was an insult or a relief--she felt inclined to think the latter

((Sure.))

"Right, right, Erin," she repeated, nodding her head as if she completely remembered. In all honesty, the Hufflepuff had never stuck out to her. It wasn't personal. Most people didn't stick out enough for Rosaline to bother to make note of who they were. There were far too many people to keep track of in their year and her own House as well.

Rosaline's reactions to the names of the two Gryffindors was visible - her shoulders tensed and her expression was a mixture of disdain and wariness. It was bothersome that she was now being associated with them.

"The twin terrors."

"Oh, they're not terrors," quibbled Erin effortlessly. "Imps, perhaps; if you want to be unfair you could dub them parasites, but I'm not sure it's fear they inflict on others," she added. Twins was good; so it was left untouched. "Although I'm sure you have more reason than others to call them that," she granted. Thank goodness she was not one of their victims--then again, was it a good thing?

A peal of thunder roared above the courtyard, causing a couple of first year Gryffindors screech, but Erin kept her composure. "Are you eating all of those?"

Erin was lucky to have added that last bit to her pointless ramble. Rosaline smiled, a rare thing that lasted only for a few fleeting seconds before fading. Her reasons for calling them terrors were justifiable, even if the remark had only been spoken with dry humour. Erin had appeased the temperamental kitty.

"I'm done. Take them." Rosaline would never outwardly share. Instead she ate one, two more and then passed the tin to Erin. The girl would be pleased to have her leftovers and suspect nothing amiss.

More thunder rumbled but there was no rain. "You'd think it would've been pouring by now," she mused.

Erin grinned, if a little guiltily, and thanked her hurriedly (and gratefully--delicacies like the custard tarts didn't grow on trees, though she intended to invent a spell that broke the magical laws in her wild fancies). She took the tin, looking it over and concealing her excitement. She took one and as she chewed on it thoughtfully (heavenly, really) she looked up to the sky. Once she swallowed, she answered. "Tell me about it. It's been like this for a good half hour."

It was until the phantom skull that was projected in the stormy skies that her carefree expression faded, replaced with one of shock. As an emerald serpent slid out of the skull she could tell what it was; not only from Binn's monotonous lessons but from her father's descriptions. "Tell me that isn't what I think it is," said Erin faintly as her words wavered in confidence.

The crack of lightning sent her skin crawling. Rosaline had no particular fear of storms, but the look on Erin's once cheerful face gave her a fright. Turning her head to the cloud infested sky, her mouth fell open, then her cool features twisted in distress.

"No, no - no," she repeated in a whisper, wanting it not to be so. It was unmistakable, a sign universal of evil and malignant intentions in the wizard world from years ago: the mark of the Death Eaters. "It can't be."

Students were starting to run inside, some shouting, screaming and pointing.

Panic seized her heart. "Erin, we have to go inside. Now."

Frail as she was when something shocked her, Erin barely had the self-control to pick up her book, still clutching the tin stubbornly, then stepped back nervously, shaking in fear but keeping her eyes on the ghastly apparition. She nearly tripped with a stone but she kept walking backwards. She was really pale, and nodded to Rosaline fearfully.

The poor girl was entirely drained of colour and trembled like a leaf. Rosaline turned to grab her bag, spotting a couple of paralysed, younger students in the middle of the courtyard. "Oi!" she called to them, borrowing Graham's favourite greeting. "Get over here before I drag you over here." Aggressive but efficient; the first years ran towards her, and Rosaline took to herding them (and Erin) into the school.

((Fade? That was freaking incredible.))

~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Bruce sat in his usual spot amid a small group of chatty Gryffindors, most of which tried to be casual without betraying their sympathies. They did not do it well. No longer the upbeat, loud center of attention in his circle of friends, Bruce took to sitting at the edge, watching as they went on with their lives. It was a decent distraction.

"Um, we're going to head to the common room," one of them informed him. They were probably only inviting him out of courtesy.

"All right. Bye," Bruce replied. He didn't have the energy to follow them around only to do what he could easily stay down at the courtyard and do. Perhaps it was rude, although social etiquette didn't quite matter to him anymore, if it ever had.

Passing by an almost empty courtyard, Esther stopped at the sight of the familiar sixth year Gryffindor, sitting alone. The snow wasn't nearly as dense as the weeks before. She made her way towards him, the edge of her cloak brushing against the thin layer of ice, a small smile on her face.

"Hey," she said as she approached.

His eyes flitted up to meet Esther and then went back to stare out over the courtyard, as if eye contact was too much effort. "Hi." Bruce had no interest in carrying on a conversation, nor did he want to sit through another round of someone trying to cheer him up when their attempts only made things worse.

"How are you?" she asked, pausing by him. She figured he'd had enough of the "are you okay"s to last him a lifetime. Esther settled on the bench beside him, leaving a safe distance between them.

"All right, I suppose." Considering everything, he was as good as his broken spirits could get. The extent of that was eating, sleeping, and going about life with that omnipresent pain. He didn't feel it quite as sharply anymore, instead it had dulled to a constant ache that was just bearable.

"And you?"

"All right. Bit fed up with Astronomy, but what else is new?" Esther shrugged. She doubted that he cared about that, less so now than before the entire incident. Most students had returned to normalcy, nowhere near as affected as Bruce and Daniel.

"No more faults in our stars, I hope," Bruce replied. Things were already bad enough. If anything more should happen, he wouldn't be able to handle it. The Headmistress and his Head of House had assured him the murderers were taken care of, but that did very little to reassure him.

((nooooooooope))
"Nor numbers, nor tea leaves, or crystal balls, whatever the Divination class uses," Esther replied. She was trying to make small talk, try to get the old Bruce back out. Surely he wanted that instead of constantly aching.

((I'm sorry, I had to.))
"Can't ask for too much." Or maybe it didn't matter. Bruce had been constantly wondering that, perhaps, if things had gone differently, his parents might still be alive. If he'd said yes to that man, warned his parents, protected them, run fast enough into the Forbidden Forest; the guilt was overwhelming sometimes.

"Why not?" Esther missed the old Bruce. Everyone did; there was no doubt about that, but it had been months since the incident, and he still hadn't come around. It was painful to watch him be so withdrawn.

"You ask for too much and you've got more to give in return for it." Bruce had spent many a night wondering why it had to be him. Perhaps it was his luxurious lifestyle, graced with the gift of magic, and overall happiness. His life had been far too good, and maybe some external force decided it was time to fix that.

"You can't blame yourself, Bruce," she murmured. "It's not your fault." Clearly, it was not by random chance that such unfortunate events had happened to him, but by no stretch was it because of him, that much was obvious.

"You don't know that." And neither did he. That uncertainty was killing him, all those countless 'what if's ranging about, creating scenarios in which his parents where still there. At the very least, he could have spent more time with them, because what little time they did have together hadn't been enough. It would never be enough.

"How can it possibly be your fault?" There was a touch of exasperation in her voice. Esther looked up at him. Rumours were circling about, and teachers refused to answer any questions, but even so, it didn't take a genius to figure that much out.

"I don't have to explain myself to you." The exasperation wasn't something unfamiliar. Many people were getting tired of his attitude, however Bruce couldn't care less what anyone thought of him anymore. Not as long as he could still put part of the blame on himself, not as long as he could see himself as a villain.

She exhaled, a bitter smile crossing her lips. "I'm trying to help, Bruce, because I'm your friend, and I value that, and I care about you. If you cared at all about your friends, the least you could do is not push everyone away." Esther stood, and turned to face him.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to see you like this and not be able to do anything about it?" Her tone turned bitter. "But then again, that's your fault, innit? Not your parents' death. The fact that you won't let anyone near you."

Tension outlined the muscles of his clenched jaw as he stared back at Esther, those normally cool eyes now harder than slate, and just as brittle. Bruce had refrained from expressing the violent emotions that crashed around inside him, clawing at his insides and reopening every wound. It was so hard to keep from breaking down every day, but he couldn't let himself go that far.

He stood, intending to leave but unable to turn away from the Ravenclaw. It was only them now, the merciless February cold stinging the skin of his cheek. After a moment Bruce realised it wasn't the wind.

"Well, I'm sorry, Esther. I'm not going to pretend - but don't you dare tell me this is my fault. Because it's not easy. I'm supposed to be a Gryffindor. I'm supposed to be brave. But do you know how bloody terrifying it is to let anyone near you when the people closest have been ripped away by the most ungodly means, right in front of you?"

He was scared, and that knowledge shook him to the core. He was a coward, and that went against everything he was supposed to be.

He was crying. She didn't mean to. Esther wanted to hug him just for the sake of comfort, but she couldn't bring herself to do it, and she doubted he'd let her.

"So then that's it," she said instead. "You really think that being alone is going to protect us. I don't think you realise, but if they knew who your parents were, then they definitely know who your friends are. Pretending like you don't have any isn't going to help anyone, especially you."

"Oh, Esther Park, I'm so far beyond help." He believed that much. Not solely because of the grief, nor the shock, but rather, the sour feelings that collected in his heart and spread throughout his body like a steady stream of poison. The anger and hatred for those men, the bitterness, the desire for vengeance. Bruce didn't have the strength to dispel those emotions.

"How can you possibly know that when you haven't even tried to get help?" There was no shortage of attempted sympathies for him. Not once, as far as she could tell, had he accepted them. Esther had a growing fear that perhaps it was too late to help him, but she clung to the hope that he might go back to his old self.

"What could anyone possibly do to make this any better?" As good as the many intentions of friends were, there wasn't enough of them to fill the vacancy left by his parents. Pretending anyone could make a difference was a waste of time. No one was capable of it, and it wasn't their faults. It was just the ways things were, and they were only people.

"Your parents aren't your entire world, Bruce. You've been here six years. You've got friends who think of you like a brother. You have a family here who wants to love and support you, and you're not giving them a chance to." Her head shook slowly, and she let out a humorless laugh. "I know no one can replace your parents, but we can at least try to love you like they did."

In the silence that followed, Bruce knew he could say nothing to deny it. Esther was being honest, and showing him what he didn't want to see. He didn't want to see all of those people with their arms outstretched and their hearts open. Mum and dad weren't there. No one would ever fill that vacancy, but wasn't half a heart better than none at all?

"You've only got ten more years to catch up," he said to her, a feeble attempt at humour. It was bittersweet, for those sixteen years felt much, much too short.

Her lips cracked into a smile, relief visible at his attempted joke. She had thought that perhaps their conversation would have ended badly. At least it seemed like he was trying to open up now. She reached out her arms. "Oh, come here, you daft, old sod."

"I am not a sod," he insisted, although Bruce pulled her into an embrace. It was simple contact, and his intentions were not dishonourable, yet it remained an intimate form of contact. Esther's honesty had pulled him out of his dark little world and into a not-as-awful world, and for that, he was grateful.

"Thanks," he said, his tone quiet but bashful.

"Yes you are. You're a sod, and I love you anyways. Platonically," Esther added quickly. She was at least a full head shorter than him, the top of her head just barely reaching his shoulder, arms wound around his waist.

"Anytime," she replied just as quietly.

"I am not a sod," he repeated, giving Esther a playful squeeze in response before pulling away. Maybe he wasn't grinning like his old, carefree self yet but at least the lethargy was ebbing away. It could easily be that Bruce would never be the same, although it was equally possible that he was sobering up for the better.

"You're a daft, old, stubborn sod," she replied. Her hands went into her pockets, the February chill finally getting to her. "We should head inside soon."

"I'll give you stubborn, but the rest is just a lie." He nodded in response to her last remark, glancing up at Gryffindor Tower, outlined against the clear, grey-tinted sky. It was time he made it more or less his home, for the manor that once was had nothing in it to make it so. Not anymore.

"Come along, then, Park."

((fade? :3))

((yurs~ this was good))

((Very. And Bruce is back~))

Persephone sat on a stone bench at the edge of the courtyard, reading her Charms book. She had just reached a new spell- she drew her rosewood wand from the top-knot her hair was twisted into. The white-blond hair tumbled down her back as she aimed her wand at a leaf on the ground.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" she murmured. The leaf rose into the air as if blown by a gust of wind. She took aim, quickly reviewing the spell.
"Cyclus Maxima!"
The leaf began to whirl in the air, caught in an invisible whirlwind. The spell, Persephone read, was popular with witches who needed to wring water out of wet clothes. Smiling, Persephone muttered "Finite" and ended the charm.

A group of fifth years crossed the courtyard, heading for the Great Hall, and as usual, Logan trailed behind them. He was not so much left behind as merely straggling by his own accord. A flash of movement caught his eye, a leaf dancing in the air, the spring sunlight turning it vividly green.

Approaching his friend, Logan's mouth curled into a warm smile. "Hello, Persephone." While his greeting was directed as the girl, his eyes strayed and followed the leaf as it fluttered delicately to the ground.